Through the Fire
by xsilentlyxscreamingx
Summary: AU. Two teens were scarred one fateful night the year before. Now they are going to have to face their greatest challenge yet...meeting one another again.
1. Chapter 1

**Just got done reading '_Leaving_ _Paradise_' and it's sequel today. Totally recommend it. If you love angst. And love. And drama. But anywho, being the shipper I am, loved the idea of this as a Kogan. I don't own BTR or any similarities to the book. (:**

_XX_

Words can't begin to explain how excited I am. How much I've been waiting for this. It's not every day you get a chance to get out of jail.

Sure, you play Monopoly and only have to roll to get a double or a '_get out of jail_' card. But there aren't games at the Minnesota Department of Corrections-Juvenile complex; or DOC as we say.

Don't get your panties in a bunch and gasp or stare. It's not as rough as it is made out to be. Yeah, the male juveniles are tough, but it's nowhere as bad as the inmates at the big boy jail.

Now, onto my story. The one I know you all are dying to hear about.

My name is Kendall Knight. I've been here for a year. I was convicted of hitting a guy with my car while I was stupidly drunk. I tacked on a hit-and-run to that offense as well. Judge didn't like that and gave me three extra months.

"Ready, Kendall?" The guard asked.

I answered with a curt nod of my head. "Yes, sir." And who wouldn't be after three hundred and ten days in here? Fuck yes, I am ready.

Taking a deep and slow breath, I follow Jerry into the room that the committee will adjoin to evaluate me. The other cell block inmates have given me the run down.

Sit up straight. Look remorseful. Act polite. All the good junk.

But then again, they're all still here, so...it obviously wasn't working for them.

The doors open and I feel my fingers twitching. I feel the sweat building beneath my coveralls, socks, even my state-issued underwear. A little smidgen of my brain is telling me to run.

The woman who looks similar to the weird head witch at Hogwarts glares at me from behind her glasses. "Please sit, Kendall." And I do so.

"As you know, we will be evaluating you to see if you are able to leave the facility and begin your life anew."

I nod once more, "Yes, ma'am." I swallow. "I feel I am ready to leave."

The man playing the whole 'bad cop' deal, scoffs and raises a hand. "Hold on there, buddy. We'll just wait to see how this evaluation goes first."

Another nod.

Bad Cop speaks again, while flipping through the folder that had basically every known detail of me as well as my crime. "Relay the night of your crime."

No matter how long I will live, it will always be the worst night of my life. But standing my ground, I exhale and speak as strong as I can. "I was drinking at a friend's party. Drove home and lost control of the wheel. I thought it was an animal I hit or something. When I saw that it was L-a..person, I freaked. I went back to my friend's house."

"Did you know the victim?"

"Yes sir. Logan Mitchell...my neighbor." I didn't think it needed to be added that he was best friends with my brother, Shay.

"You didn't think to help them?"

Shaking my head, I answered. "No. I guess I wasn't thinking clearly at the time."

Witch Lady speaks again, "You guess?"

I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. "If I could go back and change it all, I would. Every little thing."

This went on for a half hour; to the point questions and short but effective answers.

Why was I drinking? Why would I drive? Why leave? Hell, I answered as well as I could, but honestly I don't even know what's right and what's wrong any more. I'm just doing the best that seventeen year old Kendall Knight can do.

If they believe me; I'm going home. If not...well, we all know that outcome.

The final question is if I am set free, will I do anything else to potentially land me back.

"No offense. But I never want to come back here. I made a giant mistake. One that haunts me all day and night and I know it will continue to do so. Just please..let me go back home."

I'm damn near begging.

I am then told to step into the hall as the committee debates my freedom status.

Sitting in the plastic chair as my knee bounces up and down, Jerry speaks. "Don't worry. Even if you don't win them over, you'll get another chance in a few months from now."

I give a small roll of the eyes as a reply. I think this dude wants me here. More work for him. Ass.

Finally after what seems like a day and a half, but is really twenty-five minutes, the door is opened and Witch Lady sticks her head out, telling me to return.

I don't argue and I make my way back into the dark, ominous room.

After I sit, it's a few moments of ungodly tense silence before Bad Cop opens his mouth. "We all agree that actions of last years surrounding the incident were reprehensible."

'_No shit_.' I think.

Bad Cop folds his hands and looks at me. "But we also believe that it was an isolated incident never to be repeated. Due to your demonstrations of positive leadership with inmates and hard determination of given jobs...we are allowing you to be released. You will finish out your sentence with one hundred and fifty hours of mandatory community service."

My eyes widen as my jaw drops just slightly. "I'm leaving this place?"

Nodding, he confirms. "You'll meet your transition coach in the morning. He'll begin to arrange your service duties and he will report back to us on your progress; good and bad."

"Keep in mind, Mr. Knight. If you screw up. Your coach can and will petition the judge to bring you back here. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

Ten minutes later, I'm back in my cell. Only other person here at the moment is the new kid. A twelve year old who still cries non-stop.

Normally, I'd feel bad. But _maybe_ he should have thought of that before he buried his father's hunting knife into an innocent girl's back after she turned him down to the spring dance.

Rolling my eyes, I ask. "Are you ever gonna stop your crying?"

At first, I get no response. And from the way his face is in his pillow, I think I go unheard. Until I hear a slightly muffled voice. "I hate it here. I wanna go home."

I scoff and sit on my bunk to put my work boots on. Ahh, dumpster duty. Such a pleasure that I will be ending tomorrow. "Me too, kid. But you're stuck here. Might as well suck it up because crying will get you nowhere."

He finally sits up and wipes a hand across his chubby face, his red hair pointing every which way. "How long have you been in here?"

"Almost a year."

Apparently that was a trigger because he's right back in his pillow.

Ozzy, another cellmate walks in and scoffs loudly. "Dude, if that kid doesn't shut it, I'll kill him. Haven't slept for three nights."

New Kid's cries slow, but the sniffling continues.

"Oz, give him a break."

"You're too soft, Kendall. Gotta toughen the little ones up. Know who's boss."

I give a dry chuckle. "To be like you? Don't take this the wrong way, but you'd scare Dahmer."

Anyone within a five mile radius could tell Ozzy wasn't a typical nice guy. Tattoos from neck to toe, buzzed head, well over six feet. Even his mother appeared to be intimidated on visiting days.

"So." Ozzy changes the subject at hand. "You leaving this hellhole?"

"Yep. Tomorrow."

He leans against the cement wall. "Lucky sonofabitch. Goin' back to that little town with a weird-ass name?"

"Palmwoods? Yeah."

"So I'll be here with cry baby? Ain't that a bitch." He glares at New Kid. If I hadn't grown accustomed to Ozzy, I'd be just as scared.

"I'll give you the number to my cousin in San Fran, if you ever need a change of scenery."

I nod. "Thanks, man."

Shaking a head at New Kid, Ozzy gives one final goodbye before he leaves the cell.

I lean over and tap the kid's shoulder to which he scrambles away, obviously spooked.

"I won't hurt you. It's time for group. Your ass is in trouble if you're late. No exceptions."

The chubby redhead scurries out and I lay back on my bed to kill a few minutes before I'm called for work. Putting my arms behind my head, I sigh deeply.

Tomorrow, I'm getting the fuck out of here. No more group. No more cellmates. No more shitty food. No more cleaning out dumpsters.

'I'm going home.'

_XX_

**Hope you liked it.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Once again; don't own. I know I didn't get any reviews, meh. But I still wanted to post Logan's chapter. Enjoy.**

_XX_

I think physical therapists enjoy their job a bit too much for my liking. I know a positive attitude is always good, but I mean, is it really necessary to have such a wide smile when they're forcing you to do things that cause your injury pain?

Sure enough, as soon as I'm in, Dak, my physical therapist is waiting all wide eyed and bushy-tailed for me in the outpatient area's lobby.

"Hey, Loganator. Ready to work your leg?" he grins.

'_No_.'

"I guess." I say while looking down at the dirty blue tiled floor.

I understand that it's Dak's job to help me walk better. But as much as he tries and as much as I want to be able to walk normally, it will never be. Yeah, eventually I'll get a hang of the limp, but my leg will always be screwed up inside. Literally. I have enough plastic and nails in my knee to open a small hardware store.

I already know it'll be hell in the airport next semester. It'll probably take me twice as long to get onto the plane set to go to Spain. Hopefully they won't give me a full on cavity search when they think I'm hiding a concealed weapon in my knee. My knee, of all places. I've heard of shoe bomb...but this is insane.

Dak leads me to the room I've come to know like the back of my hand. Twice a week for almost a year. That's how often I come here. While I'm used to the room and aware of exercises, there's one thing I'm not used to. The stares I get.

"You know the position."

If this were any other situation, I may have laughed at the raunchiness of the statement. Sighing, I lay down on the blue mat. Kind of like the kind used in middle school gym class. I raise my foot and put it on Dak's shoulder.

"Pressure." he said.

Even after a year of surgeries and therapy, all I can manage is a small baby push.

Dak sighed. "Come on, bud. You can do better. I barely feel it."

Letting out a groan, I throw my arm over my eyes. I'm about three seconds away from pouting. But I won't. Not yet, at least. "Well, it's all I can do. And you know it." I whined.

He gave a small chuckle. "This coming from the boy who thought he'd never get out of his wheelchair. And the same boy who said he'd always have a cane. I see neither of those, Logan."

I replied with a harder push of my foot.

Even with my eyes closed, I saw Dak smile. "Thatta boy! What's the pain. One being nothing, ten being excruciating."

I don't hesitate to answer. "Eight."

"Really?"

I don't want to tell him that I think it's teetering on a nine.

He holds on and pushes forward, making me push back against him as he continues his semi-effective pep talking. "If you work hard now bud, the payoff will show later and it'll be worth it all."

Applying more pressure with my foot is the only answer I give him.

After a few more moments, he lowers my foot back down and moves back. "Good. Legs straight. Switch between bending them. One at a time."

Removing my arm from my eyes, I stare blankly up at the cracked ceiling while I do as I am told.

My right leg doesn't hurt nearly as much as my left. Sometimes not at all. The accident didn't do much and ninety-five percent of the scars have healed. So it's easy for me to bend it up.

My left foot is a different story completely. Imagine having a fifty pound weight attached to your leg. Not nice, is it?

Just a weak movement that barely classifies as a lift causes me to sweat like I just competed in a 5K.

Dak watches me for a while before asking about the pain level now. I open my mouth to truthfully tell him a nine when a cell ringing echoes in the room. Good, a distraction.

"You should get that."

"Not when I'm with a patient. Keep on bending."

"Might be important." I don't give up.

Dak rolls his eyes. "If it is, there will be a message. You're stubborn, you know that?"

I nod proudly.

"So, word on the street is that you're leaving in January." Dak makes small talk as I switch legs again.

I nod and managed to talk to gritted teeth. "Yep." Work through the pain, Logan. "Got a scholarship to go to Spain for a semester. Had to get a petition passed for an extension because of the infection."

He whistled appreciatively. "Wow, Spain? Lucky dog, if I do say so myself."

Really? Lucky? Last time I compared to the definition of the word lucky to me, they didn't match too well. Lucky people don't get hit by cars. Or have to go through painful therapy. Or have a broken family with a father that they see maybe once a year. Lucky people have friends.

In fact, thinking about it? I'm probably the most unlucky person. Wow, depressing.

Twenty minutes later, I'm still going the painstaking exercise. While I want to book it out of there, we're not done. We go to the examine room and Dak still has to massage my muscles. Pulling down my jogging pants, I lay on the cold table in my shorts.

"Is the redness fading at all?" he asks as he carefully rubs in the medicated cream.

I shrug. "Don't know. I don't look at my legs when I don't need to." I'd look at anything first before my left leg.

Picture giving a toddler a red crayon and telling them to draw all over your leg. Except my marks weren't crayon. They wouldn't wash off with soap. They were permanent reminders of the numerous surgeries. Surgeries I had to have after Kendall Knight hit me that night.

Since then, I've tried to forget about him. I can't, though. He'll always be in my head. At least the nightmares stopped six months ago. Thankful for that. I hate Kendall. I hate what he's put me through. I'm glad he's far away from me now. I try not to think about where he's at. If I think too hard, I'm afraid I'll feel guilty. So, that being said, I don't think about it. I don't want to trudge through my life.

As I'm being massaged, I wince. That sets off an alarm in Dak's brain. He raises and eyebrow and stills. "It shouldn't hurt."

I shake my head. "No, not that. I just don't like my scars being touched. I can't even do it."

He nodded, understanding what I meant. "Well, the deep red will fade eventually. Give it two or three more months."

Dak announces he's done and I waste no time in putting my pants back on. I can't help but stare as he writes in my file. His pen's moving at the speed of sound. "What are you writing?" I can't help but be weary at his answer.

"Evaluating how you're progressing. Going to request Dr. Gerard visit during your next session.

Don't panic, Logan. Deep breaths. "Why?" I wonder.

"I want to switch a few workouts for you."

I didn't like the sound of that and Dak seemed to read me before I spoke. Patting me on the shoulder, he shook his head. ""Don't worry. All we need to do is come up with a few new exercises that you can do in Spain by yourself."

Really. Hadn't really planned on spending my time overseas doing therapy, but I won't tell that to Dak. All I muster is a small smile.

Once I'm free to leave, I take the bus to Auntie Mae's Diner. My mom's working today. I know, I know, not a super glamorous, glitzy job. But it's something. She had no choice but to get a job a few years ago after the divorce.

Mr. Lyttle, her boss is a pretty nice guy. He gave her plenty of time off when I was in the hospital. We aren't rich; but we have a roof. And we have food from the diner. So I won't complain even though plenty of teenagers would.

I wave to my mom as I sit at a booth and watch as she goes into the back, getting me my dinner. I had my book on Spanish museums and was about to bury my nose in it when I saw Wayne, Greg and my cousin Carlos. Of course when I told people we were cousins, they didn't believe me. I'm white. He's Hispanic. But he was also adopted by my aunt.

God. They look perfect. The populars have no flaws. I used to be really good friends with Wayne and Greg, who used to go by _'Guitar Dude'_ but since dropped the goofy nickname. Hell, Wayne's real name is Wally. But even a loser like me knows that's a lame-ass name.

Shay Knight and I used to hang out all the time. All four of us were on the tennis team. We'd been inseparable since our first lesson at the Palmwoods Community Center when we were around nine. Carlos was the outsider. He didn't do many sports. I remember my Mom asking me to bring him along.

When the accident occurred, it turned Palmwoods upside down. When Kendall hit me, not only did he screw up my leg for life, but he screwed up my friendship with his twin, Shay. Also, my mom's friendship with Jennifer Knight. The house that I once used to walk in as if I lived there my whole life seemed like a whole new house to me with strangers inhabiting it.

When it first happened, I didn't even have time to miss Shay. My hospital phone rang all the time. My mom kept herself busy by answering said phone and kind of forced me to shorten calls due to her wanting my recovery to come first. As time went on, phone calls slowly dissipated. Everyone moved on while I was stuck at home trying to recover.

Carlos used to come over from time to time to make sure I was up to date on pointless gossip. Yeah, a girly habit...but who's to judge? Besides everyone. But now, he's all close with Wayne and Greg. Strange considering that before all of this happened, they'd never give my cousin the time of day.

Never asked Carlos about Shay. He never offered information. Shay's brother went to jail because of me. I knew he had to hate me because of it. It was kind of slap in the face and a stab in the heart to know we basically went from best friends to stranger overnight.

My stomach drops every time I remember that I'm going back to school on Monday. My first time back in a year. I'd been tutored the whole time during my recovery. I had no choice after I got an infection in my leg following my first surgery. I was bedridden and it wasn't up to me.

What was scarier? The fact that I was a senior finally getting out of the house? Or that I would face all of the guys. The entire student body staring and whispering and laughing. I really didn't know. I just didn't know what on Earth I'd say to Shay if I saw him.

I stare at my cousin and his 'friends' at the hostess stand and I sometimes wish that my mom wasn't a waitress. Times like these, actually. I see her come out from the kitchen and hope she doesn't see the three guys; but it was wishful thinking as she greeted them. "Hello, boys!" She waved in my direction as if to get my attention. "Logie, it's your friends and your cousin!" Mom..why do you embarrass me like this?

"Go sit with Logan. He's by himself." I manage to hear her tell the guys. I debate looking in my bag for a sharpie. I'll draw the big 'L' on my forehead myself and save everyone else the effort.

I have three pairs of eyes on me and the owners shrug and walk to me, sitting down all around me in the circular booth.

"Hey," I mumble to them as Mom sets my dinner in front of my face. She takes the other guys' orders and turns to go to the kitchen, but not before smiling and waving.

Carlos runs a hand through his hair. Wayne raises an eyebrow. "What are you doing, man?"

"I think I'm gonna cut my hair before the party." he states clearly.

Greg lets out a laugh. "Dude, relax. It's just a party. Not a Presidential ball." he rolls his eyes.

"What party?" the curious cat in me makes me speak before I can protest. I wonder how much it would hurt to smack my head against the table.

Carlos shrugs. "Back-to-School party at James Diamond's place."

"Oooh! When is it? I know Logan would absolutely love to go to it!" Not-saved by the mom. I shove my face full of roast beef sandwich as a reply. Can't talk with my mouth full.

Biting his lip, Carlos opens his mouth. "You can come...if you want, Logan."

Obvious pity invite. Well, obvious to everyone except a certain meddling, eavesdropping waitress. It doesn't take long for me to realize that they're all waiting for an answer. I can tell that Mom feels sorry for me. Even though I don't really care that I don't have friends anymore, she does. She has to deal with paying for half of the uninsured medical bills I've racked up. I don't want to feel like I'm adding to her stress. But still, I don't know what possessed me to say "Yeah, sure." but I did.

My mom exhales. The guys inhale sharply. "Can you pick him up, Carlos?" My mom asks sweetly.

He nods. "Yeah sure, Aunt Joanna. We'll be there around eight."

Now I just need to find a way to get out of this without letting my mom know. It'll be hard. "So, did you all hear the huge news going around?" Wayne asks, biting into his burger.

I scoff. "What? That Principal Rocque wears a toupee?"

Of course not. That was old news. It had to be if I, of all people, knew about it.

He shakes his head. "No."

I'm really curious now. I don't know why.

"Kendall Knight's being released tomorrow."

Greg nods in confirmation. "Yep. Mrs. Knight called my mom to tell her. Early release, apparently. I wonder if they'll actually let him back."

I drop my sandwich and stare at my food. No. No. No.

He still had six or so more months. I had it all planned. By the time he was released, I'd be in Spain. Away from him. I feel a mini-panic attack coming on. My heart's thumping painfully. I feel my hands begin to shake.

Even as Carlos asks if I'm okay, I can't answer.

I'm definitely not okay.

_XX_

**Hope you liked.**


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